
KATHARINE 
MORSE 



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CQEffilGHT DEPOSrC 



A GATE OF CEDAR 



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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO.. Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



A GATE OF CEDAR 



BY 

KATHARINE MORSE 

Author of 
The Uncensored Letters of a Canteen Girl 



^etD |9orfe 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1922 

All rights reserved 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 






Copyright, 1922, 

BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 



Set up and printed. Published January, 1922 



FERRIS 

PRINTING COMPANY 

NEW YORK CITY 



FEB 15 1922 

g)n!,A554650 



THIS BOOK 

IS 
DEDICATED 

TO 
MY MOTHER 



Ihe Shuiamite and Verses for a Guest Room 
appeared in the Century Magazine under 
the pen name "Anne Arrabin." 



FOREWORD 

I PIPE not to the world, 
For it were bold of me 
To think that such a one as I 
Could pipe for others' glee : 

For some have pipes of gold 
And some of mellow brass; 
My pipe is but a hollow reed 
Bound with a blade of grass. 

Some pipe to courts and kings, 
Some to the crowding mart ; 
But I, I pipe not to the world, 
I pipe to my own heart. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FOREWORD ix 

THE CEDAR GATE: 

Maple Tree 17 

My Garden 18 

Autumnal 19 

Bumblebee 20 

Colors 21 

Awakening 22 

The Shriving 23 

On The Hill-top 24 

A Sunset 25 

Twilight 26 

In the Orchard 27 

Birds 28 

Humming-bird 29 

Thrasher 30 

Crow 31 

Chickadee 32 

The Oak Tree 33 

A Bee Sets Sau. 34 

The Sumachs: Fall 35 

The Sumachs: Winter 36 

Fog 37 

Blithe Bird Bold Bee 38 

Winter in The South 39 



xii CONTENTS 

OUT OF THE PAST: PAGE 

The Regicide 43 

The Witch 46 

Dan Kellog Entertains Shay's Army 48 

Stephen Burroughs Defends Himself 50 

The Privateers 53 

The Pioneer's Thoughts Turn East 55 

Gettysburg 56 

FOR ANY LOVER: 

Prelude 63 

The Dreamer 65 

Premonition 66 

He Troubles Me 67 

Love's Advent 68 

Love's Dawn 69 

The Shadow 70 

I Dare Not Tell 71 

The Tryst 72 

For Thee 73 

Now You Are Sleeping 74 

Affirmation 75 

The Shulamite 76 

Kiss Me 78 

The New Moon 79 

Fancy's Garden 80 

The Fear 83 

The Mirror 84 

The Wanderer 85 

His Letters 87 

Heigh-ho! 88 

Love's Grave 89 

Humoresque 90 

The Rain 91 

Renunciation 92 



CONTENTS xiii 

FOR ANYONE: PAGE 

Tryptich in Ash and Ebony: 

Left Panel: Three Centurions 95 

Right Panel: A Group of Soldiers 96 

Central Panel; The Two Thieves 98 

A Room: 

The Rosewood Cabinet 100 

A Japanese Print 101 

The Spinet 102 

The Horsehair Sofa 103 

A Portrait 104 

The Little Dancer 106 

Idylle Francaise 110 

Hadley Meadows 112 

The Ferries 113 

The Listener 115 

The Marionettes 116 

Caprice 118 

The Homestead 119 

The Last Desire 121 

The Dead 122 

Upstairs 123 

The Angel 124 

At Bethany 125 

Life 126 

LASSES LOVE 

The Way of Righteousness 129 

The Message 130 

The Daisy 131 

The Calendar 132 

If I Were a Lad 133 

I Loved in Laughter 134 



xiv CONTENTS 

FOR A CHILD: PAGE 

Tree 137 

Goose-girl 138 

From the Nursery Window 139 

Columbines 140 

The Faerie Frock 141 

The Elf Child 142 

The Moon 143 

FOR SOME I LOVE: 

Truant 147 

To One Away 149 

The Wind 150 

Verses for a Guest Room 151 

To Anne 152 

To 153 

To E.A.L 154 

Apotheosis 155 

An Old Photograph 156 

To A.D.M 157 

The Gardener 158 

In Memoriam 159 

Historical Notes 160 



A GATE OF CEDAR 



MAPLE TREE 

Now fall mints gold from out the green of June ; 

Golden as honey in the comb, 

Pagan and perfect as some temple dome 

My maple burns against the blue of noon. 

Under its shining shade I lie and gaze 
Up through dark branches veining amber tints 
Over whose arch the gold light gleams and glints 
Lovely as lacquer, lucent as old glaze; 

Till, lying so, I dream there drips 
Wine and wild honey on my lips. 



17 



MY GARDEN 

My garden is a harlequin, 
With careless colors tumbled in ; 
And neither proper beds nor rows 
But every gipsy flower that grows; 
Larkspurs and blazing stars and phlox, 
Petunias and hollyhocks, 
And marigolds and feverfew 
And campions and f our-o'clocks ; 
Scarlets and blues and pinks and corals 
With every saucy scent and hue . . . 
And should you comment ; Such a garden 
Is little suited, by your pardon. 
To our New England modes and morals, 
Pray tell me then the reason of it ! 
I'll only say; The wild bees love it. 
And what the bees love, I love too. 



18 



AUTUMNAL 

Rust on the field and on the thicket, 

A cicada, a shrilHng cricket, 

Wild apples from a hill-side bough 

With skin like flame and flesh like snow, 

With chestnuts brown and warm and sleek 

And shining as an Arab's cheek. 

Grapes garlanding a twisted vine. 

The sumachs ruddy as red wine, 

And under sharp October skies 

Your sunburnt smile, your gipsy eyes! 



19 



BUMBLEBEE 

In a satin chamber 
I surprised a bee 
Tippling draughts of amber 
From cup of porphyry. 

With buccaneer bravado 
The velvet debauche 
Booms blustering defiance, 
Then swaggers it away. 



20 



COLORS 

No color is so glad as green; — 
When the full flood of April shakes 
The world and each bud stirs and wakes 
Amid the woods where woodland lakes 
Shine bright as bluebells in between; 
Or when June quickens and the rye 
Lies tender-hearted to the sky, 
Or when the young maize shoulder-high 
Takes from the light a shifting sheen : 

If God should say to me; Now choose 
Which hue to keep since you must lose 
All colors from the earth but one : 

I'd say; Dear God, I would regret 

The hyacinth and violet, 

The cowslip brimmed with morning sun, 

The phantom rainbow and the mist 

At dawn of pearl and amethyst; 

And may I die ere I forget 

The blue of yonder hill-top, — yet 

God, give me green ! 

21 



AWAKENING 

The dawn is a kiss on my face 
I throw wide the dark door of night, 
I leap to the day's embrace, 
I give myself to the light. 



22 



THE SHRIVING 

Beneath a breaking sky 

Amid the wild grass, I 

Have shrived myself anew; 

Austere, immaculate, withdrawn, 

The Angel of the Dawn 

Has pierced my naked heart with light 

And sealed my brow with dew. 



23 



ON THE HILL-TOP 

From the cup of the sky 
With hps long starved 
I drink the bhie dawn, 
Unafraid ; 
While in my hands 
I hold the earth, — 
A sphere of green jade 
Curiously carved. 



24 



A SUNSET 

Fish 
Silver 
Luminous 
Lazily poised; 
Foam streaks 
Of far-off ships : 

Tides 
Amber 
Fathomless ; 
Dark waves 
Brooding of storm 
Eclipse. 



25 



TWILIGHT 

Dusk the grey reaper gathers in 

The golden harvest of the sky; 

Thin and more thin 

The faihng color shows : 

Retarded in its flight 

As by a Titan's touch 

The rhythm of the light 

Perceptibly now slows : 

The old earth, tired and spent 

And having suffered much, 

Yet happily content, 

Turns with a drowsy sigh 

Its slow cheek to the night. 



26 



IN THE ORCHARD 

There are no hours more gold than these 

Beneath the autumn apple trees, 

When every laden twig and bough 

Is bright with fruit like colored flames : 

If I were but a poet now 

I'd make a sonnet of their names : 

There's Belle Fleur Jamie and Belle et Bonne, 

Wonder and Duke of Wellington, 

Arkansas Baptist and Louise, 

Victuals and Drink and Bread and Cheese, 

With Texas Pride, Kentiicky Queen 

And Salome and Magdalene, 

Gloria Mundi, Gillyflo-wer 

With Winter Wine and Szveet and Sour. 

Scarlet and gold I count each one 
From Maiden's Blush to Jonathan, 
And each is lovelier than the rest; 
I do not know which one is best. 



27 



BIRDS 

A BLUEBIRD in an apple tree 
A glad adventure is to me ; 

While, sudden glimpsed, the swallow's dart 
Like laughter flicks across my heart ; 

Grey-shadowed gulls with wide blown wings 
Wake in me vagrant hankerings; 

A silver thrush at dusk of day 

Calls from dim woods and then I pray. 



28 



HUMMING-BIRD 

The fashion of the humming-bird ;- 
At soul bhthe bee, 
Caught in a case of Cloisonne 
From oversea; 

A little whiff of Orient 
In prim New England morn, 
To vex the heart with Araby 
And leave forlorn; 

A vagrant note of scarlet joy 
That bell and book should ban, 
A bit of pagan pageantry 

To flout the puritan. 



29 



THRASHER 

The thrasher in my aspen tree 

Has set his sleek brown throat a-bubble; 

The drollest scamp of lovers, he 

To court by code will take no trouble; 

He flouts his sweetheart while he woos, 

Cajoles, caresses, spites and teases, 

Then all at once croons, coaxes, coos; 

He plays with moods just as he pleases, 

A puckish, now a poignant, note, 

Some whimsy of a waggish wit, 

Then all Arcadia in his throat; 

I can but sense the drift of it, 

For mortal wits at best are thick 

When love's a-brewing, — more's the pity! 

But this is clear; Sweet, Sweet, come quick! 

Come merrily, my Pretty, Pretty ! 



30 



CROW 

A GENTLEMAN,, Sedate, severe, 

In black habiliments monastic, 

Of sombre mien and speech austere, — • 

To dub him robber were fantastic! 

Indeed his solemn cawings say; 

Nine flies and five fat slugs each day 

Sufilice for my ascetic diet : — 

What did I hear you mutter? Corn! 

I will not trouble to deny it ! 

Such slanders best are met with scorn I 

Pax tecum, friend, I must be flying; 

The hour grows late. What's that you say? 

The Blacksmith's old white mare is dying? 

The Deacon's early garden's sprouting? 

Thanks, I'll be going by that way ; 

Caaa caw! We'll settle this past doubting. 



31 



CHICKADEE 

You wee grey gamin of a bird, 
Shy, daring, curious, alert. 
Pranking in antic airs absurd, — 
An arrant flirt ! 

Frequenter of our winter boughs 
In garb as staid as any Quaker, 
A bit of cricket and of mouse 
Went to your making, merry-maker! 

You darting, starting Httle bobbin ! 
Our snow-bound days it seems dehght you,- 
More venturesome than wren or robin, — 
Bless you, you saucy little sprite, you! 



32 



THE OAK TREE 

With the wind I awoke 

In the night, 
Lying huddled and warm 
Harkening to the storm ; 
Sudden I sat upright, 
Beat on the dark with a cry, 
Knowing that you my own 

Mighty and steadfast oak 
Were fallen, were overthrown. 
Now in the dark I lie 
Watching the altered day 
Dawn in an empty sky. 



33 



A BEE SETS SAIL 

The wind blows east, the wind blows storm, 
And yet this very hour 
I saw a bumblebee embark 
In frigate of a flower; 

An admiral in epaulets, 
He strode the scented deck 
And in the teeth of tossing gales 
He rode without a wreck. 

More valorous adventurer 

I never hope to see, — 

Though mariners be gallant men, — 

Than that same bumblebee. 



34 



THE SUMACHS 

Fall 

WiDE-flocking birds of scarlet flame 

In Orient imaginings 

Which yet no cage could hold or tame . . 

I do not dare draw near 

Lest there should suddenly arise 

A blinding tumult of great wings 

Whirled upward with strange tropic cries. 



35 



THE SUMACHS 

Winter 

Grey with the cold 

They shiver bare and stark, 

Yet holding each aloft 

Insistently, defying, 

A crimson torch 

Whereof the spark 

Is dying. 



36 



FOG 

Berkeley 

The wings of the fog have brushed the barren 

hill-tops, — 
White wings poised and hovering on high ! — 
Swift wings soar and sweep across the heavens, 
The wings of the fog have blotted out the sky! 

The wings of the fog are brooding close above 
us, — 

White, white, white like a great flag unfurled! — 

The wings of the fog have filled the air with blind- 
ness, 

The wings of the fog have covered all the world ! 



n 



BLITHE BIRD BOLD BEE 

Blithe bird, bold bee 
Be tolerant of me; 
Flit near 
Blue Chevalier 
Of beechwood tree. 

Swift dragon-fly, 

No alien I ! 

Mine host, 

Almost, 

In inns of sky. 

Thrush, robin, wren, 
Greet ye again! 
Brave company! 
To me 
My countrymen. 



38 



WINTER IN THE SOUTH 

The north land, the home land, 
Ah God! If I were there! 
Just to see the pointed pines 
And steepled cedars growing . . 
A cold air and a keen air 
And the snow 
Blowing. 



39 



OUT OF THE PAST 

Rhymes Written Concerning 

Certain Personages and Events 

in New England History 



41 



THE REGICIDE 

Deep are God's ways, passing man's little wit, 

His wisdom as His grace is infinite : 

His will be done; though by His will I live 

Exiled, an outcast and a fugitive. 

Destined through all my wanderings to spread 

Danger like pestilence, to eat the bread 

Of charity in secret, yea almost 

Living among the living like a ghost. 

Shut from the good green earth, shut from the 

sky, 
A dweller in dark rooms, until I die. 

His will be done! Have I not done His will? 
Vengeance is mine. He saith ; Thou shalt not kill. 
Yet for the sake of England, — England's fate 
Hung in the balance while the seed of hate 
Sprang to red war and he who wrought it so. 
Tyrant and traitor, murderer and foe 
Of England's weal, faithless and false, a thing 
More like a wanton woman than a king, 

43 



44 THE REGICIDE 

Ruled in a bitter and a cruel reign 

And lied and swore and broke his oaths again. 

And so I judged him, yea and put my name 
On the death warrant, witnessing the same. . . . 
The great axe cleft the air, the false head fell . . . 
England ! O proud land loved and served too well ! 
What dooms great hearts have undergone for her ! 
Yet fond and fickle, foolish like the cur 
Returning to his vomit, purged in vain, 
She bows beneath the tyrant's yoke again! 

So God disposes of what man has planned; 
The shadows shift and lengthen and the sand 
Runs from the hour-glass. We are doomed and 

driven, 
Vessels without a compass. I have given 
All for this one small bitter boon of life . . . 
And thou, brave heart, O well-beloved wife, 
A friendless wilderness, a savage sea 
Cry dumb denial betwixt thee and me! 
Day follows day, so age creeps on apace, 
And I shall die and never see her face . . . 



THE REGICIDE 45 

Never to see her face nor England's shore, 
Green as the garden of the Lord, once more, — 
England and all life's stately ordered ways, 
England and all the splendor of past days! 
But for me rather endless exile spent 
In hiding on an uncouth continent. 
Until my days, like dark birds that have flown, 
Are told and I die nameless and alone. 

Lord, who hast deigned, to compass Thy intent, 
To make of me an humble instrument. 
Be merciful to me a sinner and instil 
Thy peace Avithin my heart ; have I not done Thy 
will? 



THE WITCH 

So please your Worship, I'm not doing any harm ! 
An old lame dame, her basket on her arm. 
Hobbling along the rutted road by hitches. 
Hunting for herbs beside the weedy ditches. 
Spells, did you say? God's mercy! my poor jaws 
Are fit for nothing but an old wife's saws. 
You heard me mutter? Aye! some foolish words 
Between me and my gossips here, the birds, — 
Wee saucy merry rascals, cock and hen! 
He roves abroad, — a way with gentlemen ! — 
She sits at home, snug in the thorn-tree boughs, 
And plays the prude and keeps his little house. 

Who's coming yon ? Eh ! who but Parson Jones ! 
May the flesh rot from off his marrow bones ! 
"Doddering old scald crazy crone," he said. 
Eh well! Eh well! Some night he'll lie abed 
'Twixt dark and cockcrow feeling fifty pins 
Pricking his lean hide and his scrawny shins. 
Then there's that Goody Boltwood and her brat, 
She did me spite, the slut! She'll pay for that! 

46 



THE WITCH 47 

Eh hey! Perhaps I know a thing or two 
Some folks would give a-plenty if they knew! 
And my old rheumy eyes have seen some sights ! 
What would you say, along o' moonshine nights 
When proper folk are snoring sound to see, 
Down in the Black Swamp by the willow tree, 
The devil, fiddle under chin, 
Fiddling away as gay as sin 
In a high cocked hat and scarlet hose ; 
While seventeen imps with thumbs to nose 
Go spinning, kicking heels and toes 
Till one's that giddy goodness knows! 

What's that you say? A witch? Now Heaven 

f orf end ! 
I'm a poor woman, sir, that's near her end. 
And an old tongue does sometimes play queer 

tricks. 
Eh! Give a dog a bad name and it sticks. 



DAN KELLOG ENTERTAINS SHAY'S 
ARMY 

We're Shay's men, fighting men, and we want 

rum; 
We're dry, dry as cinders and we'll drink till 

Kingdom come; 
Shutesbury and Petersham, Pelham Hill and 

Hollow, 
We're ranting roaring rebels, sir! and Shay's the 

man we follow! 

Here Tom Conkey sings solus 

Old man Kellog was a toper and a Tory, 

He szvore by the croivn and he lived on gin and 

glory, 
He drank to the King and he blessed his soul; 
They came to tar and feather him, he hid him in 

a hole; 
He took his boots and Bible and went to win the 

zvar; 
Up with your bumpers boys and toast our host 

once more! 

48 



DAN KELLOG ENTERTAINS SHAY'S ARMY 49 

Long-legged stiff-necked lean pumkin-heads, 
There's neither man nor devil, sir! that any of us 

dreads ! 
Rough ready roisterers hailing from the hills, 
Every musket has its ball every bullet kills; 
We're sick of courts and lawyermen and laws and 

all such bunk, 
And some of us are sober but most of us are 

drunk : 
We've had one revolution and we've only just 

begun. 
We've had one revolution, — s'blood, we'll have 

another one ! 

For we're Shay's men, fighting men, full of rum 

and sin. 
We'll lick the whole damn continent and drink 

up all the gin; 
Shutesbury and Petersham, Pelham Hill and 

Hollow, 
Up with your bumpers, boys ! Shay's the man to 

follow ! 



STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS 
HIMSELF 

AGAINST ALL SLANDERERS, TRADUCERS AND 
MALICIOUS TONGUES 

Alias Davis . . . rascal . . . ripe for Jiell . . . 
The noted Stephen Burroughs . . . preacher, — 

Well? 
Scalawag, schoolmaster, vagabond of sorts. 
Pilloried, whipped, fined in a dozen courts, 
Old Parson Burroughs' son and life-long grief, 
Jail-bird, impost er, counterfeiter, thief! 
Without defender and without a friend, 
Foredoomed to hang! Sirs, have you made an 

end? 
Such titles so unsparingly conferred 
Disprove themselves. Admitting I have erred, 
Which of you, gentlemen, dare cast a stone? 
To err is human, have I erred alone? 

To itemize the charge . . that coining scheme . . 
/ was the dupe, betrayed by that old dream 

50 



STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS HIMSELF 51 

Of turning dross to gold, — a luckless quest 

Which history assures us has obsessed 

The minds of wise men since King Solomon, — 

Helvetius, Sendevogius, Pope John; 

And where such worthy precedents exist 

Proving the status of the alchemist, 

Is it so strange that, guileless of deceit, 

I fell the victim of a cunning cheat? 

Touching the matter of those sermons now, — 
A trifling matter, faith! for such a row! 
Whether myself had written them or not. 
They had their brimstone served them just as hot! 
Mean-minded busybones, they got their dues! 
Thinking to trap me with their text; "Old shoes 
And clouted on their feet." Ill-doomed intent! 
I preached their sermon! Waxing eloquent, 
I proved they were the wearers of the shoes, the 

clouts 
Were envies, jealousies, suspicions, doubts; 
With such sleek sophistries as parsons use, 
Leaving them dumb, condemned by their own 

shoes ! 



52 STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS HIMSELF 

Jail-bird ? In sooth ! And yet who needs be taught 
Five greater rogues go free for each wretch 

caught ? 
Judges are Wind, the law is halt and lame, 
Lawyers are lies and justice but a name? 
Again, if you should urge that I perchance 
Have strayed in paths of sinful dalliance; 
What heart so cold but knows the charms of love, 
As witness, — Caesar, Alexander, Jove! 

Time passes, sirs, when all is done and said. 
We live, we sin, we suffer, we are dead; 
And just to prove I don't do things by half, 
See, I have written my own epitaph; 
Stephen etcetera, student of arts, 
A mind of talent and a man of parts. 
Slandered, maligned, misrepresented, 
One who has erred yet much repented, 
A gentleman, a scholar and a wit . . . 
Too long, you say? Then just write: — counter- 
feit! 



THE PRIVATEERS 

Sloop from Magadore with ebony and gum, 
Schooner from San Salvadore loaded down with 

rum, 
Merchantman from Africa with ivory and gold, — 
Ho ! she'll bring a pretty price when her cargo's 

sold! 

Blow us south to Rio Grande, blow us east to 

Spain, 
Blow us north to Newfoundland and blow us 

back again. 
Here's a buss for Peg and Meg and Moll, the 

pretty dears. 
Every lass in every port who loves the privateers ! 

Schooner from the Indies with silks to dress a 
queen. 

Lumber boat with beaver skins bound for Aber- 
deen, 

Barque from Demerara with indigo and dyes, 

Malaga and Trinidad to make a Yankee prize. 

53 



54 THE PRIVATEERS 

Run the colors up the mast, warn her with a shot, 
By the Lord, she's British, boys, give it to her hot! 
Half the game is Yankee aim, half is Yankee luck; 
Round shot, grape shot, — Glory ho! She's struck! 

Ho! Blow us south to Rio Grande, blow us east 

to Spain, 
Blow us north to Newfoundland and blow us 

back again! 
Here's a buss for Nell and Belle and Poll the 

pretty dear, 
Where's the lass in any port but loves a privateer? 



THE PIONEER'S THOUGHTS TURN 
EAST 

On the far hill-side in the spring 

I drove the grey team harrowing, 

When like a cry within my breast 

A word thrilled through me; — zvest, west, west I 

It rang and rang and would not still 

Though I would plough, though I would till. 

To whatsoever task I turned 

That thought still bit in me and burned . . . 

Ah God! my little hill-side farm 

Green pastured in the east. 

Low roofed with long sheds sheltered warm, 

Smooth fare for man and beast; 

At dusk I see within my mind 

Just how the long light falls 

On the low-mounded hills behind 

And on the old stone walls . . . 

And I who put this back of me 
Must watch strange seasons bring 
Their arid fruits, and friendless see 
The alien face of spring. 

55 



GETTYSBURG 

How can I bear it? Well the question's fair, 
Yet life must answer it, I sometimes think 
That God himself can't know what women bear. 
Reach me that skein of wool, Dear. No, the pink; 
The rose against the purple makes it rich; 
And still we go on sewing, stitch by stitch, 
While summer ripens with a scent of box 
Along the borders belled with hollyhocks. 
The fledglings from the eaves will soon be 

flown, — 
And still God lets this wicked war go on! 

You never saw my sons, you say? That's true, 

You didn't come to town till sixty-two . . . 

John is the elder one, the younger, Paul, 

Is dark and slight while John is fair and tall. 

Grey-eyed, with hair the color of ripe corn; 

I was just turned nineteen when John was born. 

Paul was an ailing child, I used to fear 
Each spring he wouldn't see another year; 

56 



GETTYSBURG 57 

But John was strong and hearty. So they grew, 
And they were all the world to me, — these two! 
Then Andrew died, the fall of forty-seven; 
John was thirteen, Paul going on eleven, — 
Two little heedless happy lads, half -grown, — 
And I was left to care for them alone. 

Only a mother knows with what heartache 
From dark to dawn a mother lies awake. 
John was a comfort, to be counted on, — 
No woman ever had a better son ! 
But Paul was contrary and proud and wild 
And passionate and wilful from a child. 
With eyes that flashed and hair just like a girl's. 
Silky and thick and soft, — I kept those curls! 
Always the two of them were falling out, 
I don't know what their quarrels were about. 
Only if John liked red then Paul liked blue; — 
And yet they loved each other. ... So they 

grew 
From boys to men and I began to fear 
The day when they would find some other woman 

dear. 
John played the friend, was kind but never cared; 



58 GETTYSBURG 

I was his only sweetheart, he declared, 

And he would never have another one, but all 

The pretty girls were making eyes at Paul. 

Then the war threatened . . . broke. . . . Night 

after night 
They argued; North and South and wrong and 

right,— 
I think Paul took the South"s side out of spite. 

Well that's my story; you may guess yourself 
What happened after; on the mantel shelf 
There, side by side, stand pictures of my two; 
Paul is the one in grey while John wears blue. 

See ! it is almost finished, just this row 
And then the corner. Women sew and sew 
And talk of trifles; why the hens don't lay 
And when the drought will break. The papers say 
That a great battle has been fought 
At Gettysburg. Oh, we are tamed and taught 
To live by little things from day to day. 



GETTYSBURG 59 

A letter? . . . With bad news, you say ... Be 

quick ! 
Tell me the worst ! My boys are wounded ? . . . 

sick? 
Not dead ! . . . Not he ! . . . Not Paul, my little 

son! 
Oh Christ! If it had only been the other one! 



FOR ANY LOVER 



PRELUDE 

Spring like a white flame has swept o'er 

The hearts of lovers; 

They that loved before 

Are new enkindled as from hazel covers, 

Delirious, the floods of love-song pour. 

And those that knew not love? Ah! they 

Are pitiful indeed! 

For none may say 

What measure of dim longing is their meed, 

Faint troublous tenderness and thoughts astray. 

They see the glad leaf leaping from the seed, 

Yet feel no stir: 

The rune they cannot read; 

They sense the young sap surge through pine and 

fir, 
Yet know not what they need : 

63 



64 PRELUDE 

But, piteous in wistful wondering, 

Till, sudden-wise. 

They turn and kiss and cling; 

Then look upon the world with altered eyes 

And, — startled, — know the meaning of the spring- 



THE DREAMER 

Ah ! dreams, dreams, dreams. 
Ye are the heart of me ! 
The white ships melt in the mistland 
At the shadowy verge of the sea, 
And where they go I do not know 
Nor what their names may be; 
Ah! dreams, dreams, dreams, 
Ye are the heart of me! 



65 



PREMONITION 

I DREW the curtains of my heart, 

I closed the shutters tight; 

Then searched and stopped each cranny 

In dread of that great light 

Which should assault its casements; 

Then, safe from sharpest ray, 

Defied in stricken darkness 

The miracle of day ! 



66 



HE TROUBLES ME 

He troubles me ; I cannot sleep ; 
While dark of night fades into dim 
I can do naught but wake and weep 
Because of him, because of him. 

He troubles me; I cannot smile, 
For when I would mine eyelids swim 
And all the world goes dark a while 
Because of him, because of him. 

He troubles me; I cannot pray; 
I fear the jealous seraphim 
That guard my dreams are flown away 
Because of him, because of him. 



67 



LOVE'S ADVENT 

I THOUGHT to hear high silver trumpets blown 
Across the world to warn me Love drew near 
And thrill my heart with rapture and with fear; 
So harkening, heedless of One long known, 
Till on a day I woke to find him grown 
Close to my heart, inestimably dear; 
Then when I thought Love's voice at last to hear 
Just with a look he claimed me for his own. 



66 



LOVE'S DAWN 

I WAS not unaware . . . 

For tears had touched my eyehds while I slept; 
I woke and found them wet upon my hair, — 
I knew it was for no light thing I wept. 

I rose and clad me in my whitest gown, 
Through the hushed hallways silently I crept, 
And still the strange slow tears fell softly down; 
Still must I weep yet knew not why I wept. 

I turned the blind key in the creaking lock, 
I drew the door wide with a shaken hand, 
I had not heard his step nor known his knock. 
Yet on the threshold I beheld him stand : 

Beneath the shadow of his wings I knelt, 
He took my hands within his own and drew 
My breast against his bosom, straight I felt 
His tears against my cheek and then I knew. 



69 



THE SHADOW 

I COULD not stay to bind my hair, 
I could not stop to smooth my dress; 
There was no moment to prepare 
So sudden was the blessedness. 

This thought struck sharp through all the sweet; 
The stains upon my garment's hem, 
The dust upon my toil-worn feet, 
Alas! what will he think of them? 

Oh Love, my Love, I grieve with shame, 

My heart is shaken with distress, 

I am so bitterly to blame 

For this; — my hfe's unreadiness! 

He smiled and spoke; "Thy garment's hem 
Shines as if woven star on star; 
Thy feet" — he knelt for kissing them — 
"Are whiter than a seraph's are." 



70 



I DARE NOT TELL 

I DARE not tell my love for thee aloud, 
So worship thee in dumbness, O Most Dear! 
For deep within my thought there wears a fear ;- 
That I in speaking love should spin its shroud. 

Yet when my shaken fingers brush thy hand 
Or when my thrilled lips tremble on thy cheek,- 
This wounding wonder that I may not speak,- 
Heart of my Hope, wilt thou not understand? 



71 



THE TRYST 

Last night I held a tryst 

With my Old Self who died 

Three days ago. I drew her close and kissed 

Her wistful lips, whereat she, wonder-eyed 

And shaken; Who art thou? 

Dost know me not, O sister mine? 

Nay, thou canst he no kin to me! 

Lean nearer, look; dost know me now? 

Aye, hut — how strange! Your hands . . ., they 

shine! 
They shine for they have lain in his. 
What makes that light ahout your hroiv? 
A kiss. 

Ah! I have dreamed, — I know! 
But not that it woidd he like this! 



n 



FOR THEE 

For thee my soul puts on her morning face 
And festal robes ; then through her dwelling-place 
Hastens, the quick breath panting to her lips, 
And, — prodigal! — lights all her tallow dips 
Until the dim abode is starred with light 
And all who pass may know ; the King comes here 
tonight ! 



7i 



NOW YOU ARE SLEEPING 

Now you are sleeping I'd send my heart to you 
With laden fingers, phantom-light, to strew 
Blossoms of balm across your bitter breast; 
And on your brow bruised petals wet with dew 
And on your anguished eyelids herbs of rest. 



74 



AFFIRMATION 

Deaf, I would no less tremble to your voice; 

Blind and a dweller in strange lands, 

There still would surge through me sharp singing 

joys 
At touch of your strong hands : 

Dumb, I would answer to your word of love; 
Dead and forgotten underneath the sod, 
If you set foot upon the turf above 
Your step to me would be the step of God. 



75 



THE SHULAMITE 

/ am black . . . But comely! . . . O ye daughters 

of Jerusalem, 
As the tents of Kedar! . . . As the curtains of 

Solomon! 

The Song of Songs 

From out the misted margent of dead years 
I saw a masque of regal women move, 
And some were pale, some passionate with tears, 
While others smiled; these were the Queens of 

Love- 
Out of the mists they moved in stately wise, — 
Purple and gold upon each garment's hern, — 
And looked at me aloof with alien eyes 
Who let them go and spoke no word with them : 
So passed, till suddenly I was aware 
Of one who moved among the sandaled throng 
Barefoot, a wreath of grape bloom in her hair. 
And lips that seemed to tremble with stilled song ; 
On her young limbs a golden hue of sun 

76 



THE SHULAMITE 11 

That pallid made appear the beauties white, — 
Fairer than all the Queens of Solomon! — 
Who art thou Loveliest ? The Shulamite. 

The cinctured Queens in silent scorn depart. 
Tarry Beloved, "we are one at heart! 



KISS ME 

Kiss me as if you were afraid 

That what you craved might be gainsaid, 

As if, quite recklessly, you tried 

At venture, fearful lest denied. 

And thus but gained a moment's bliss 

At peril of displeasure, — kiss ! 

Kiss me as if you knew not yet 
How wholly I am yours; forget 
For just one moment that you know 
Both heart and soul are yours ; ah ! so 
As if you scarce dared dream that this 
Were possible to happen, — kiss! 

Kiss me as if you were not sure 
This love of mine would long endure, 
As if you deemed that all delay 
Were dangerous to loving, yea. 
As if you did not dare to miss 
One moment while love lasted, — kiss! 



78 



THE NEW MOON 
Slavic Love Song 

Round is your rim, O moon, like the curve of my 

bosom, 
Yet are you pointed and sharp like a blade of fine 

metal ; 
I will stretch out my hand and take you and slip 

you beneath my bodice, 
When my lover embraces me, between my breasts 

he will feel your coldness; 
And should he disdain me, with you I will pierce 

his heart. 



79 



FANCY'S GARDEN 

Hollyhock ; 

Sixteen, a muslin frock, 

Petticoats, pinafore. 

Sewing a seam; 

Sun at the cottage door, — 

Does she smile, does she dream? 

Heigh-ho, it's four o'clock. 

Come skim the cream ! 

Marigold; 

Tropic eyes black and bold, 
Earings of yellow brass; 
What will my fortune be, 
Gipsy lass, gipsy lass? 
Beauty, brave lovers three, 
A grave by the cypress tree . . . 
The coin falls to the grass . . . 

Trumpet vine; 
Banners fly bright as wine. 
Crimson the bugles blare, 
80 



FANCY'S GARDEN 81 

Red beat the throbbing drums, 
All the folk run and stare; 
Heart, heart, be wise, beware! 
Why should he care? 



Mignonette ; 

Dear, leave me not as yet! 
Love me in gentle mood. 
Love me in solitude : 
Draw close the curtain's fold. 
Shut out the careless street; 
Will love grow ever cold? 
Love is so sweet ! 



Columbine ; 

Scarlet lips mocking mine, 
Scarlet skirts all a-blow; 
Where's my love Pierrot? 
Once he loved Pierrette, 
Now she's grown thin . . . 
Ah, how these men forget! 
Harlequin . . . Harlequin! 



82 FANCY'S GARDEN 

Passion Flower; 

Cloisters, a shadowed hour, 

A nun in a purple hood; 

Why must she pray so long 

When she is so good? 

Prayers for true lovers dead, 

Prayers for those soon to be,^ — 

Saint, when your prayers are said, 

Say one for me! 



THE FEAR 

Make me, Most Dear, to love you less, 
Lest I should lean on you and twine 
Myself too close until you be 
Burdened by love's sweet helplessness 
Like the ill-starred though sturdy tree 
Weighted by the slow strangling vine. 

So spare your kiss, forego your touch. 
Draw your deep lips away from mine : 
For I have learned what wisdom saith ; 
He whom a Avoman loves too much 
Drinks as it were a drowsy wine 
And in the lees of it lurks death. 



83 



THE MIRROR 

Look! — in the looking-glass we two 

Mirrored a moment, I and you, 

Dark head and fair, grey eyes and blue ; 

We kiss, they clasp. Tonight we go 
You east, I west, and who can know 
When you will once more hold me so? 

Yet since our mirrored selves have kissed 
Will not these shadow shapes persist, 
Ghost lovers in a timeless tryst? 



84 



THE WANDERER 

In the early dawn of a morning grey 
He took his staff and departed; 
He would not bide though I bid him stay 
And he carolled a song as he started. 

I watched him go from the courtyard gate, — 
Leaden the skies hung o'er him ! — 
Down the path where we'd walked of late, 
Till the world spread wide before him. 

He carries my heart in the scrip at his side! 
My love is the flower in his bonnet, 
And his leathern coat, — Ah woe betide! — 
Is warm with my kisses on it. 

He is bearing the dreams of my soul at his belt 
And my prayers within his grey wallet 
And all the joy that I've ever felt, — 
God knows what may chance to befall it ! 

85 



86 THE WANDERER 

He has left me of his but a ragged glove, 
So old and worn that he tossed it 
Down by the gate; — did you dream, my Love, 
What an alms you gave when you lost it ? 

He has left me naught of mine own but tears 
And the hope that I fain would cherish; 
The first, I trow, will last me for years, 
But alas! if the hope should perish! 



HIS LETTERS 

I WOULD be free of love that gyves and grieves 
So I will burn his letters one by one, 
For though these sheets be light as wintered leaves 
Yet burden they the heart they lie upon. 

His letters, one by one, have fled in flame, 
In ashes lie the burning words he writ, 
AH, save for this last little sheet, — ah shame ! 
Although I would, I cannot part with it ! 



87 



HEIGH-HO 

Heigh-ho ! 

When did love go? 

Ask me not, I do not know; — 

Last night, today, a week ago! 

Who saw him die? 
And did he smile or did he sigh? 
A tear, a laugh, an epitaph. . . . 
Who will his mourner be? 
Not I! 



88 



LOVE'S GRAVE 

Dig me a grave for last year's love, 
Bury him dark and deep, 
So with the green o' the grass above, 
Last year's love may sleep. 

At his head and his feet I will plant a red rose, 
With harebells and violets blue, — 
Everything fragrant and fragile that grows; 
But over his bosom, — rue. 



89 



HUMORESQUE 

Heart^ heart, O wherefor so threadbare? 
Are there not gems and golden gauds to wear, 
And many merry dominoes fit for a carnival, 
And scores of silk and satin gowns all hanging 
on the wall? 

Heart, heart, why goest so forlorn? 

Put by your robes of penitence, your grey cloak 

dim and worn. 
Put on some golden vanity with rosy ribbands 

gay, 
And then pretend it's festival and play at holiday! 



90 



THE RAIN 

The phantom fingers of the rain 
Are tapping at my window-pane, 
And in the dripping from the leaves, 
The running murmur in the eaves, 
A whisper sounds; Do you remember 
That windy wild day in November, 
You two together in the mist 
And how he drew you close and kissed? 
O wraith hands at my window sill, 
O wistful phantom hands, be still! 
His cheek against mine warm and wet, 
The mist, the kiss . . . could I forget? 



91 



RENUNCIATION 

I AM aweary, droop thy mantle, Sweet; 
Let fall its folds about me for a space, 
Bowing thy head, that I who clasp thy feet 
May once more touch thy face. 

Strong arms that fain would hold me high 
Against the world, close me in last caress ; 
I could not match thy stature, — no, not I ! 
See, I have striven and won weariness ! 

O bright brave head! O high and lordly Love! 
All can I bear except to see thee low; 
Stay not for pity, — I am well enough — 
Bend once above me, kiss me and then go. 



92 



FOR ANYONE 



TRYPTICH IN ASH AND EBONY 
LEFT PANEL 

THREE CENTURIONS 

What have we here today? 

A brace of thieves. 
In Rome they keep such punishments for slaves. 
Freemen or bondsmen all these Jews are knaves. 
The third? A crazed fanatic who believes 
In some new sect, no one knows what or why. 
New Gods are born as fast as old Gods die, 
And who can tell the false God from the true ? 
I saw strange things in the Numidian w^ar. 
No God is worth a strong man's dying for! 
He came to save the world, so Sextus said. 
The world will saVe itself when he is dead. 
And so it will, my friend, when I and you 
Like him have died and been forgotten too. 



95 



RIGHT PANEL 



A GROUP OF SOLDIERS 



Give me the coat. 

It's mine. 

You thief, you He! 
Take it then if you dare! 

I had it first. 
The greedy vuhure plucks men as they die. 
You and your vultures, dirty dog, be cursed! 
Peace to your quarrel, brawlers, give it here; 
Verrus, your knife, v^e'll cut the cloth in two. 
You'll spoil a rare fine bit of weaving if you do ! 
Leave it to luck then; let the dice decide. 
What was that noise? 

A woman standing near 
Reached through the press and touched the coat 

and cried. 
Plague take the women ! What do they want here ? 
Back! Give us space. 

Ho! Quintus is cross-eyed, 
Watch how he squints. 

96 



A GROUP OF SOLDIERS 97 

He's muttering a charm. 
Look out for Caius, he has crooked dice ! 
Speak for yourself! 

Mercury, jog his arm! 
Room for my elbow! Back, you beggar's lice! 



CENTRAL PANEL 



THE TWO THIEVES 



Brother, why dost thou hang so high? 
The moon was darkened in the sky 
And he was rich and very old, 
An old bald miser hard as hate, 
What use had he for all that gold? 
Cursed be the Romans and their law! 
I robbed the coffer, gained the gate, — 
The sleeping slaves lay close about, — 
And suddenly the moon came out 
And the watch saw. 

And I,— 

At the end of the night on the Joppa road 
I slit his throat 
And so he died; 

I wouldn't have killed him but he cried, — 
A sickly beggar full of sores 
With a few coins in his begging bowl; 
I hid his body in a hole, 

98 



THE TWO THIEVES 99 

They tracked me by my bloody coat : 
Curse them, these Roman sons of whores! 

And what of him who makes the third, 
Who hangs and does not speak a word? 

Hast thou not heard? 

It is the son of Joseph, he 

Men call the Christ. 

Ho ! Jesus, be 
Thou Christ or Prophet, speak and loose 
These nails that pierce us, set us free! 
Or has thy God forsaken thee? 
Curse thee, thou saviour of the Jews! 



A ROOM 

THE ROSEWOOD CABINET 

Crystals for scent, silver for snuff and patches, 

Carnelian, lacquer, ivory and gilt, 

A brooch of filagree, a clasp that matches, 

A crucifix, a fan, a dagger's hilt; — 

These, treasured once by buried beaux and belles 

Of antique elegance, what are they more 

Than driftwood, shining pebbles and strange 

shells 
Left by the Past's spent tide along Time's shore? 



100 



A JAPANESE PRINT 

A DRAGONFLY 

Alighting; 

A thin blade of sedge; 

Three grey green stalks 

Cut by the paper's edge . . . 

Straws, meadow grass, 

Insects . . . 

Why should we lack for art 

With such 

As texts? 



101 



SPINET 

In you frail melodies exist 

Like fine rain falling from a mist,- 

Imagined fantasies persist. 

So your quaint cadences designed 
In antique patterns haunt the mind 
Like phantoms fugitive as wind- 



102 



THE HORSEHAIR SOFA 

For fleshly penitence devised. 

New England's conscience symbolised, 

The Ten Commandments on a platter, — 

Pantalettes, prayer-books, prunes and prisms, 

Longer and shorter Catechisms, — 

Morals triumphant over matter! 



103 



THE PORTRAIT 

So you're the stock from which our race derives, — 
You and your three prim unprotesting wives; 
Painted by Stuart, A. D. eighteen-two. 
He knew the breed and so he painted you. 

Well sir, it's plain to see you liked old sherry 
And wagged a warm tongue when the hour grew 

merry, 
Yet, duly decorous, performed your duty 
Toward God, and — kept a keen eye out for female 

beauty. 
So passed a long life spent in honest labour 
Getting the better of your crafty neighbour. 

As to religion, staunchly orthodox. 
Taking no chances on hell fire, — sly fox! 
In seventy-five you swore yourself a Tory, 
In seventy-six, ah, that's another story! 
Finding the King's cause isn't worth a groat, 
You trim your sails and turn your Tory coat. 

104 



THE PORTRAIT 105 

By eighteen-twelve you were as firm and fiery 
As any patriot. You kept a diary 
In which we find recorded acts and attitudes, 
Politics, petty plots and pious platitudes. 

Four score and ten you died in twenty-seven, 
Mourned by six sons; — such are the saints in 
Heaven ! 



THE LITTLE DANCER 
I 

LIGHT my feet and light my fancies, 
And light as fleet my flitting dances; 

1 could not sink were worlds to drown : 
Come, wind, and take me! 

I am thistledown. 

II 

To each 

I speak in different speech, 
I give a different gift . . . 
To some magic and mysteries, 
To one a white moth's kiss. 
To others rainbows, dew; 
What shall I give to you? 

Ill 

Dance with me O lover of mine 
And I'll give you a kiss in a cup of wine, 
A golden bow and a silver dart 
And wild wings to nest within your heart. 
106 



THE LITTLE DANCER 107 

IV 

What would you have me be? 
A dryad who has left her home 
In some wind-wakened aspen tree ? 
A sea-sprite laughing from the foam? 
A far cloud drifting in the sky? 
A bird alighting on a bough? 
A flower, a bee, a dragonfly? 
What would you have me now? 



V 



I wonder if you guessed 

Where I was dancing, just a breath ago 

Where? Why on heaven's roof, 

Across a velvet carpet, warp and woof 

Woven of shining strands of azure air; 

Against my breast 

The wind blew sharp as scimitars 

And all about my feet 

Like shining petals 

Lay lost stars. 



108 THE LITTLE DANCER 

VI 

Wind of the sky! 

Leap down your sunlit stairs 

Bright with wild winey airs, 

Suddenly, unawares, 

Lift me and bear me high! 

Wind of the sea; 
Fathoms of foam and thunder, 
Dirge of the dim sea-wonder 
Hidden the deep tides under. 
Croon to me, comfort me. 

Wind of the night; 
Steal shadow-footed, frail, 
Wreathed darkly veil on veil. 
Lift up your taper pale 
Set all the stars alight! 

Wind of the dawn! 
Under the sky's blue eaves 
Shake light in silver sheaves, 
Waken the dew-wet leaves, 
Darkness is gone! 



THE LITTLE DANCER 109 

VII 

O blind to beauty, — unconfessed, — 
Even to you I bring unguessed 
My vision, though you only know 
Softness has touched your heart, — 
Like snow. 



IDYLLE FRANCAISE 

Where the slow stream winds by the linden 

boughs 
Grave as a grey owl sits the dim old house, 
Here for a whim the two of us must dine, — 
Scdade, des escargots, with thin red wine, 
Coffee and cheese, a sweet tarte de Lorraine, — 
And we could see through the bright window-pane 
The garden like a door-step paradise, — 
If God should make His heavens pocket-size! 

Talk dragged; I asked; Madame she lives alone? 
You smiled; Monsieur plays Darby to her Joan; 
Forty years wed, I think you'd find them quaint; 
Madame like some aged patient kindly saint, 
Patron of housewives, saint of sauce-pans, yet 
Feminine, French, incurably coquette! 

Let's have them in ! We plead ; at last they came, 
Monsieur decrepit, bleary-eyed and lame, 
Madame, deep-bosomed, amply broad of lap. 
All softly wrinkled under her frilled cap : 

110 



IDYLLE FRANCAISE 111 

She pours the coffee, wags a gossip's tongue; 
Those days of gold, 111071 Dieu, when we were 

young ! 
None was si beau, si fort as Monsieur then! 
And now so frail, but headstrong ! — ah, these men ! 
He pays no heed to all her cautioning! 
Whereat he shrills; She wants to tie a string 
About my leg to keep me like her bird I 
Madame sighs, dimples, twitters on; Absurd! 
And yet my prayer is that each of us dies 
The self-same hour. She smiles into his eyes, 
Then hfts the coffee-cups and turning hides 
A bright face beautiful as any bride's. 

Forty years wed . . . Close to the window-pane 
The roses blossomed fresh with the night's rain; 
Forty years wed . We two in forty years . . . 
And suddenly the roses blurred in tears. 



HADLEY MEADOWS 

By Hadley elms the wide fields lie; 
Here under a New England sky 
Ringed by the blue New England hills 
Old Europe ploughs and sows and tills. 

Yon barefoot daughter of the soil, 
Broad-bosomed, bending to the toil. 
Just such a stubborn grace is hers 
As Millet gave his harvesters ! 

Patient she spends her old-world strength 
Plodding along the furrows length, 
Then, at a cry, turns, bares her breast 
And sets her suckling babe at rest. 



112 



THE FERRIES 

San Francisco Bay 

They shaped us not for man's delight, 
Nor moulded us in armoured might, 
We were not planned for grace nor speed. 
But builded for a people's need. 

The white curled wavelets laugh for glee, 
Toss their heads and shout of the sea; 
Through gates of gold sifts singing wind;- 
Are we so deaf, are we so blind f 

Dull plodding shapes all day we ply 
Past where the deep-sea vessels lie, 
To and fro between our goals 
Carrying so many thousand souls. 

And think you not that we too feel 
The prick of the brine beneath the keel? 
And think you not within us stirs 
The lust of the far sea voyagers? 
113 



114 THE FERRIES 

Close anchored by the ferry slip, 

We pass by many a gallant ship 

Back from its wanderings over the world, 

Storm-beaten canvas folded and furled. 

What word bring you of alien strands f 
What cargoes shipped from fabled lands f 
What gossip of the seven seas? 
What loot from the Antipodes? 

Dull plodding shapes all day we ply 
Past where the deep-sea vessels lie, 
To and fro between our goals 
Carrying so many thousand souls. 



THE LISTENER 

The music will not leave your face alone, 
It shapes it as a sculptor carves his stone; 
With touches unimaginably deft, 
It frets it into haggard arcs of pain 
Then curves it back to loveliness again, 
It stops and there is only marble left. 



115 



THE MARIONETTES 

From your shy little curls to your prim little toes 
Lady, I love you; eyes, ears, chin and nose 
Beguile me, bewitch me. So you like the pose? 
Have you a heart? Ah, that is the riddle! 
I kneel at your feet, I plead. O fiddle! 
Your courting is crude, it lacks finesse . . . 

Look at the moon, it is made of honey 

And shines for true lovers. You digress, 

The question is; have you any money? 

A handful of silver, more or less; 

What does it matter? Kiss me again, 

My heart is your own for ever and ever; 

We'll go to the priest if you'll only say when. 

The next blue moon ! But you love me ! Never ! 

Hey, hi diddle, diddle! 

You've got it all wrong! 

Your bright sword is tin. 

Your neck is too long. 

Your legs are too thin, 

116 



THE MARIONETTES 117 

And I don't like the way your hair parts in the 

middle ! 
So your love is a lie! 
And I thought you a saint! 
But no, you are nothing but pertness and paint. 
My heart is broken and I shall die. 

Bell, ring his knell; ding, dong! What a jest! 
See, he lies dead, his poor heart is broken! 
It was only a plaster heart at best. 
Now draw the curtain, the piece is all spoken. 



CAPRICE 

Caprice 

Is gold; 

An orange-colored toy balloon, 

The tinkle of a tambourine, 

Pollen that makes the brown bee bold,- 

Caprice 

Is green . . . 

A hurdy-gurdy's tangled tune, 

The tassel from a jester's shoe, 

A faun's dream in mid-afternoon. 

Caprice 

Is blue ... 

Soap-bubbles blown by Pierrot, 

An errant dragonfly or two, 

Venetian lanterns hung a-row, — 

Caprice 

Is you. 



118 



THE HOMESTEAD 

This is my father's father's house; 
Within this dooryard each tall tree 
That yearns toward heaven with its boughs 
Roots deep within the past of me. 

The rose-bush by the door is red 
With passion of strong lovers gone, 
And fragrant of dear women dead 
Who travailed that I might be born. 

The low porch hung about with vines, 
The dim hearth-stone, the wide front door, 
Are precious to me as old shrines 
Because they loved them long before. 

The very earth is dear; — to pass 
Down from the door-step to the street 
On flaggings rimmed about with grass 
And worn by little children's feet! 

119 



120 THE HOMESTEAD 

In hall and chamber, everywhere 
Are gracious presences; it seems 
Light footsteps linger on the stair, 
Soft voices haunt the rafter beams. 

But closest, when at dawn I wake 
I feel those same shy gentle souls, — 
Just so, they watched the slow light break. 
Just so, they heard the orioles! 



THE LAST DESIRE 

The fields were golden when I died, 
For that was in the spring; — 
It was so hard to go away 
And leave them blossoming! 

I craved a little meadow flower 
To clasp within my hand; 
They looked at me with wistful eyes 
And did not understand. 

They brought me lilies for my brow 
And roses for my breast; 
They stripped great gardens bare for me 
Of all their loveliest : 

Nor ever guessed, — who loved me so ! — 
That what I craved might be 
A common crimson clover-top 
To take away with me. 



121 



THE DEAD 

Do they sleep, the Dead? 
Both the evil and the good 
In coffins made of cedar wood, 
Shrouded, lapped in lead? 

Do they sleep, the Dead? 

Mid rusted ruin of old wars, 

Snapped swords and shattered scimitars? 

Sealed in precious perfumes, hid 

In Egypt's ageless pyramid; 

Far in some strange sun-scourged land, 

White bones blenched upon the sand; 

Or where wild waves cover them. 

Rock and roar a requiem? 

Do they sleep, the Dead? 

Whether ashes, whether dust. 
Whether cased in rot or rust. 
Wrapped in white and locked with lead, 
Do they sleep, the Dead? 



122 



UPSTAIRS 

Upstairs they say 'tis sunshine, 
Upstairs they say 'tis spring; 
And that means honey-locusts 
And blue flags blossoming. 

They think the spring is not for us, 
Upstairs, yet even so 

A "Warmth has thrilled the frozen breasts 
Of us who lie below. 



123 



THE ANGEL 

Once it was told me by a man of God 
That close to each of us, unguessed, 
Serene of brow and radiant of breast 
The Angel of God's Presence trod. 

Since then at times it seems I am aware, 
Passing perhaps along a twilight street, 
Of a faint sound like sandalled certain feet 
Which echo my own footsteps everywhere. 

And once when strong fears shot their shafts at 

me 
I heard a still clear silver voice which said : 
"Oh lonely child of God be comforted 
For where thou goest, lo I go with thee." 



124 



AT BETHANY 

We went in silence, save, a whisper ran 
Throughout the people : Who is then this man 
And what thing doeth he ? This none did know, 
Yet still we followed. Whither do we go? 
To Lazarus. But he hath lain in shroud 
Four days and nights. A murmur shook the 

crowd. 
Yet still we followed; at the burial place 
I, watching, saw upon the Master's face 
A strangeness gather, — as a light, — until 
Mine eyes went blind a space : the world was still : 
Then words of strong command smote the 

strained ear, 
I saw men shudder : a great tide of fear 
Swept us at sight of that I dare not name; 
The women flickered like wind-beaten flame; 
I turned to flee, made faint with dread and awe, 
But in that moment at His side I saw, — 
As sun in storm rending the gloom thereof, — 
The face of Mary mad with joy and love! 



125 



LIFE 

Life bears great alabaster jars 

Of gold and purple gifts, 

Flowers, arrows, stars . . . 

Kneeling I lift 

My arms to her with pleas 

And touch 

Her knees. 

Life smiles and bends, 

The gleaming shower descends; 

Nay, I am overwhelmed by such 

Vast bounty ! Cease ; 

It is too much! 



126 



LASSES LOVE 



THE WAY OF RIGHTEOUSNESS 

I PUT my Sunday bonnet on, 
With roses 'round the brim, 
My buckled shoes, my musHn frock, — 
All for the sake of him. 

I never looked about the church. 
As some I know of do! 
But quiet as a Quakeress 
Sat all the service through. 

The preacher drew his text from Luke;- 
Whom went ye out to see? 
Old Uncle Eben took a nap 
Two seats in front of me; 

The doctor's wife was dressed in silk. 
The sempstress wore her shawl; 
The way of righteousness is hard, — 
He wasn't there at all ! 



129 



THE MESSAGE 

If you should see my dear Love,- 
Now mark you how he looks ! — 
Tell him the spice-bush blossoms 
Along the upland brooks; 

The plum trees in the valley 
Are white, but whiter still 
Tell him the wilding cherry 
Shakes snow on Thornton Hill; 

Tell him the meadow marshes 
Are brimmed with cowslip gold,— 
And mind you how he answers 
When you have told! 



130 



THE DAISY 

I ASKED a daisy of my Love 
And it was very good, 
It answered me; He loves you true! 
As I had hoped it would. 

If I had let the matter rest 
Nor asked another one, 
I would have had a bit of joy 
That night to dream upon; 

But though like fallen flakes of snow 
The foolish petals dot 
The meadow grass, now each declares; 
He loves me, loves me not! 



131 



THE CALENDAR 

The first time that I saw my Love 
It was at Eastertide ; 
I dreamt a dream on Whitsunday 
That I would be a bride; 

Mayday he said : "My dear, my own ;"- 
They tell me men deceive ! — 
I gave him all my heart in June; 
Now 'tis Midsummer Eve; 

So fast the summer months come on, 
So fast they slip away! 
And will he love me Hallowe'en? 
And wed me Christmas Day? 



132 



IF I WERE A LAD 

If I were a lad 
I would run away to sea, 
All to let a thousand leagues 
Lie 'twixt him and me; 

And in an alien country 

Across the world from here 

I'd dwell, where none would ever speak 

Of him who was my Dear; 

For oh! my heart is wrung with pain 
By that which once was sweet; — 
To hear his step at twilight 
Echo down the street! 



133 



I LOVED IN LAUGHTER 

I LOVED in laughter for a space, 
Then for a while I loved in pain ; 
New fancies former moods efface; 
Now I am out of love again! 

The world is wide, a happy place, 
The clouds blow by, blue skies remain ; 
The winter goes and leaves no trace; 
And I — am out of love again! 



134 



FOR A CHILD 



TREE 

I LAY my cheek against your bark, 
My arms along a bough, 
I pluck a little spray of you 
To bind about my brow. 

I whisper secret words to you, 
You whisper back to me, 
I brush your leaves across my lips, 
Because I love you, tree. 



137 



GOOSE-GIRL 

White geese and grey 
In a willow wood ; 
The white geese stray, 
The grey are good. 

I watch all day, 
As a goose-girl should, 
White geese and grey 
In a willow wood. 



138 



FROM THE NURSERY WINDOW 

The Jack-o-lantern moon looks down 
Upon the treetops of the town, 
And in the branches there are shapes 
Of gnomes and dancing bears and apes; 
The elm-tree dog sits up and begs, 
The plum-tree man with crooked legs 
He lifts his cup but never drinks . . . 
The grinning moon peeps down and winks. 
The goblin in the old pear tree 
Sticks out his twisted tongue at me. 



139 



COLUMBINES 

Columbines are bells 

Hung in airy steeples 

By the faerie peoples, 

Chiming pixie spells, 

Tolling elfin knells : 

Winds that set the grasses quaking, 

Start each tiny clapper shaking; 

Winds that blow the leaves a-twinkle 

Set each scarlet bloom a-tinkle 

Down the ferny dells : 

Swaying, swinging. 

Chiming, ringing, 

Columbines 

Are bells! 



140 



THE FAIRY FROCK 

It's primrose petals for a gown, 

For sempstress spiders three, 

It's gossamer and thistledown 

To make my frock for me. 

Then hie thee straight to cobbler toad 

Beneath the hornbeam tree 

Beyond the turning of the road 

To shape my shoes for me. 

Then put a dewdrop in my hair, 

Fetch me my cobweb shawl, 

And call my cricket coach and pair 

To drive me to the ball! 



141 



THE ELF-CHILD 

I SIT within the chimney-nook 
And eat my cream and curds; 
I do not mind the dame's sour look, 
Nor heed her scolding words : 

I never rue their bitter speech 
Nor brood upon their taunts, 
For oh ! my heart is out of reach, 
Away in faerie haunts. 

My heart is on the hill-side 
Where the wild thorn-apples grow, 
And overhead the skies are wide, 
And stars are warm and low : 

And when their tongues in sleep are still,- 
As soft as mouse on stair, — 
I'll out and dance upon the hill 
With fireflies in my hair! 



142 



THE MOON 

The moon's no bigger than my ball, — 
I'm not afraid of her at all! 

But yesterday she rose so soon, — 

'Twas quite too early for the moon! — 

And looked at me without a sound, 

So white, so bright, so great, so round, 

Above the top of Butter Hill, 

That I was almost scared until 

She slipped behind the cherry tree; 

Out through its leaves she peeped at me, 

Then climbed up to its topmost boughs 

And crept along the neighbour's house. 

Till from the chimney by and by 

She stepped right off into the sky; 

And all the time, w^hat do • you think ? 

I saw her shrink and shrink and shrink! 

Now she's no bigger than my ball, — 
I'm not afraid of her at all! 



143 



FOR SOME I LOVE 



TRUANT 

Do you not fear, in those long years to come, 
A day on which our voices, weary-dumb, 
Shall fail of psalms and we shall turn, replete 
Of giving praises though to praise be sweet? 
When, surfeiting of splendors, we shall be 
Burdened by jasper and chalcedony? 
Then, harps discarded, haloes laid away, 
Shall we not steal a heavenly holiday? 

We two shall creep down the long shining stairs 
Softly as thieves, — old Peter unawares 
Drowsily nodding his bald saintly pate, — 
So tiptoe through a little crack i' the gate 
And out! Then unreproved, unhindered, free 
For one day of seraphic truancy! 

Tell me, O Playmate, whither do we go? 
Back to dear earthly haunts we used to know? 
Or, bolder, flash through space, until afar 
We touch the threshold of some secret star? 

147 



148 TRUANT 

What wild pranks shall we play, what mad deeds 

do, 
What mischief make amid strange moons,, we 

two? 
Ere, meekly tapping on the sapphire door, 
We creep back to God's great gold house once 

more? 



TO ONE AWAY 

For M. D. M. 

If I could touch you now 

I would kiss your hair's dim bands 

And the fine faint lines of your brow 

And the faint fine veins of your hands, 

Your fingers worn and brown; 

The soft folds of your gown, 

I would touch them unawares; 

And oh, it would be sweet 

To hear upon the stairs 

The fall of your patient feet. 



149 



THE WIND 

The wind creeps down the corridor, 
The blind wind taps upon my door, 
Pauses and sighs, then taps once more; 

He lifts the latch and lets it fall, 
Then back again his slow feet crawl 
By each blank door along the hall : 

And at each door he fumbles past 
He tries the latch but finds it fast, — 
He tries the little north door last. 

But in that room where lately were 
Laughter and lilt he hears no stir; 
He sighs ; I can't awaken her ! 

Then down the passageway once more 
He creeps across the creaking floor, 
Pausing to listen at my door. 



ISO 



VERSES FOR A GUEST ROOM 

L. S. H. 

I HAVE no pomp to offer thee, 
Just my heart's hospitaHty, — 
A little beam, but one to light 
The lodging of an anchorite. 



A slumber deep, a dreamless rest 
To thee within this room, Dear Guest! 
'Tis sweet to me that thou and I 
This night beneath one roof shall lie; 
For this I deem, — most dear, my Guest !- 
In all the world, or East or West 
Where e'er thy tarrying may be, 
Blessed is the roof that shelters thee. 



151 



TO ANNE 

Grief cannot ever wither you, 
Nor ill fate bitterly subdue, 
Nor, hungry heart, will you be left 
Ever quite utterly bereft; 

For while dews fall and waters flow, 
While rainbows arch and west winds blow 
You cannot be quite discontent, 
For beauty is your nourishment. 



152 



TO 

They could not shut you out of heaven 
Although the sins you'd sinned were seven 

Not all the saints and souls in glory 
Could exile you to Purgatory : 

For this is true; — they need your eyes 
To light the ways of Paradise. 



153 



TO E. A. L. 

I 

God dreamt a dream of stars and dew, 
Lest He forget He fashioned you. 

He shaped your spirit out of these : — 

The dusk o' the dawn and the wind in the trees; 

Then with a smile He bade you be 
And made Hfe lyrical for me. 

n 

There is no fear may make thy heart afraid, 
Nor doubt by which thy soul could be betrayed, 
Nor Death himself shall render thee dismayed; 

For though his step be sudden thou shalt rise 
And give him greeting in right queenly wise 
With gracious lips and sweet unshadowed eyes; 

And he that is the Arbiter of All, 
Ere giving thee to drink of wine and gall, 
Shall place upon thy brow a coronal. 
154 



APOTHEOSIS 

All spring I watched her while a change 
Crept over her, her hands would cling 
Sharply to mine, her eyes grew strange, 
Wide W'ith a wordless questioning; 

While on her wistful face I read 
A listening look as if she heard 
From blossomed branches overhead 
The fluting of a phantom bird. 

Yet breathed she never word to tell 

What wonder she was thinking of, 

Till spring's dream changed to summer's spell, 

Then spoke at last and said: I love. 



155 



AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH 

Into your grave grey-shadowed eyes, 
So wide and innocently wise, 
I look and ask if any knew 
The wild shy gentle heart of you; 
For these same solemn eyes confess 
The child's eternal loneliness, 
The child's pathetic wistful pride, 
The child whose childhood is denied. 

Could I but take your hand and touch 

Your cheek to mine and tell you such 

Brave tales as boys love to have told, — 

Of Robin Hood and pirate gold, 

Of Lancelot and Galahad; 

And when the dark came, tuck you tight 

Beneath the covers smoothed and white, 

And sing to you how angels keep 

Their slumber watch, till you should sleep, 

And sleeping, smile, O little lad! 

But three score years and more have sped, 
O grave grey eyes ! And you are dead. 
156 



TO A. D. M. 

What shall I take to make your requiem? 
Not the deep tones nor solemn hues of grief, 
Nor the sad pageant man shapes out of them, 
Rather God's beauty gathered leaf by leaf; 
Shadows of far clouds resting on the hills, 
Green dawning hope in April frond and shoot, 
Fragrance of spring woods that the rain distils, 
Orchards at sundown full of scarlet fruit; — 
Mist over moist fields brown beneath the plough, 
Great oaks in autumn bronze against the blue, 
Hips of wild rose aflame on winter's bough, — 
These will I take for these belong to you. 



157 






THE GARDENER 

Some think 

The souls of those who die 

Linger a while among those haunts most dear 

To them in living; — a last link 

That they are slow 

To break . . . 

I know 

Your spirit has been here 

Among those roses, 

Tending them with understanding touch 

And gentle wise caress; 

Else why 

Should they have bloomed this year 

In such 

Heart-rending loveliness ? 



158 



IN MEMORIAM 

Like flying wings, like soundless waters flowing 
Fade the dear dead from out the memory; 
This is the changeless truth, Beloved One, and 

knowing 
I would pray fate these frail words prove for 

thee, — 
Struck at white heat of passionate regretting, — 
Tablets of bronze, fadeless, beyond forgetting. 



159 



•^r^'"^ 3»t^ 



HISTORICAL NOTES 

THE REGICIDE — Upon the accession of 
Charles II in 1660, Col. Goffe and Gen. Whalley, 
members of Cromwell's High Court of Justice, 
fled to America where they spent the rest of 
their lives in hiding. It is known that both passed 
a number of years at Old Hadley concealed in 
the house of the minister and tradition has it 
that Whalley died here and was buried in the 
cellar. The date and place of the death of Goffe 
who survived him are unknown. 

STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS 
HIMSELF — Perhaps the most picturesque inci- 
dent in the career of the notorious Stephen Bur- 
roughs was his ;acceptance under an assumed 
name, on the strength of a glib tongue and a 
dozen of his father's old sermons, of the position 
of temporary minister or "Supplyer" to the dour 
Scotch-Presbyterian congregation of Pelham, 
Massachusetts. Becoming suspicious, the elders 
of the church demanded that he preach a sermon 
160 



HISTORICAL NOTES 161 

extempore from a text of their own choosing, 
an ordeal which his quick wit enabled him to 
turn to his credit and their confusion. 

DAN KELLOG ENTERTAINS SHAY'S 
ARMY — The old house with its secret staircase 
where Kellog hid to escape the attention of zealous 
patriots still stands between Amherst and Pelham. 
Here in 1787 after Shay's army of two thousand 
malcontents from Western Massachusetts had 
suffered their first discomfiture at the hands of 
the militia a number of that bold band stopped 
for refreshment, leaving their names scrawled 
on the attic walls as testimony. 



<ji^t. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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